


Gears

by godtiermeme



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Factory, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 04:52:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtiermeme/pseuds/godtiermeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A settings-transplant of sorts. The setting is a a large factory, in which the multiple sectors act as the "districts" and workers are kept in numbered cell blocks. This story focuses on the 104th Block (obviously named after the Eren's squad) and their lives as teenage factory workers within a society confined to a quasi-Victorian manufacturing facility. The story's a bit on the spontaneous side, and there's honestly no telling what could actually end up happening. Some plot-related "mysteries" or "arcs" will probably be redesigned to fit this model. (Abandoned)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gears

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies for not being able to give a more detailed explanation/summary! **:/** As said, this is going to be extremely spontaneous and I have nothing about it planned out. I have no idea when it will end or if anyone will even bother to read this. It's my first SnK fic and I'd love some feedback to help me improve. Ships will pop up eventually and my impossibly vague ideas for this work will hopefully fall into place. I hope you enjoy reading it (and that it's no _too_

A flickering gas lamp hangs behind a cracked four-pane window. Its rapidly dying flame illuminates very little, though it reveals enough to allow positive identification of some of its surroundings. A blood stained Bible rests beneath the light source, whilst the remnants of a tattered leather jacket are wrapped around it—for warmth, perhaps—to gather what little heat there is in the factory and store it within something that could be fashioned into a makeshift blanket. A thick roll of bandages is yet to be opened, though it rests dangerously close to the live flame.

A few dark brown hairs are also illuminated by the light of the lamp. Behind these shadowy wisps, a pair of blue-green eyes reflect the little illumination which is held before them. Above these eyes, set upon a pale face, are brows which seem to be perpetually furrowed in constant disenchantment.

“Eren Jäeger!” bellows a not-so-distant voice.

“Eren Jäeger!” the voice repeats itself after receiving no answer within what it deems to be a suitable amount of time.

“Eren! Jäeger!” the voice escalates to an impossibly loud volume, and the sounds of various objects smashing against the floor rattles through the oversized facility.

From out of the darkness surrounding the young man, a hand reaches out. It grabs onto the tattered, sweat-stained collar of his shirt. The boy lets forth a startled snarl, attempts to fight back, and is quickly injected with a fast-acting sedative. As he falls into an anesthetized trance, the gaslamp is extinguished. The bloodied book thrown into a composting pile, and the boy’s various other abandoned belongings are taken for reuse.

 

* * *

 

_“Eren Jäeger. Aged seventeen years...”_

A seemingly distant voice rouses the bedraggled teen from his slumber. He lets forth a quiet yawn and rolls over. His constantly weary mind falls into a nostalgic stupor. “Five more minutes, Mom,” he murmurs unconsciously as he draws his asperous bedclothes more tightly about himself.

_“Mikasa Ackerman. Presumed to be seventeen after a brief medical examination...”_

The same voice pulls another teen—a raven-haired girl with a fair complexion and a wary gaze—from her slumber. She, unlike the prior adolescent, immediately comes to. Her eyes dart about rapidly, taking in her surroundings and recording them in the back of her mind. At the same time, she strides over to the still-drowsy, sentimentally-dazed teen and attempts to wake him.

_“...and Armin Arlert. Aged sixteen years...”_

A final teenager is woken by the voice. He rolls over, buries himself deeper into his formidable fortress of blankets, and lets forth a stifled sob. Some of his blonde hair peeks out from beneath his bed’s dressings.

_“...Former residents of the defunct Shiganshina Industrial Refuge...”_

At this point, the female deems it necessary to take drastic measures. With one, effortless push, she sends the first of the boys onto the floor.

He responds with a discontented whine. “What the fuck was that for, Mikasa!?” he mutters, rubbing the back of his head as he staggers to his feet.

“You were asleep, Eren,” she responds flatly.

“Well of course I was asleep. It’s pretty fucking early, if you haven’t noticed,” he retorts.

“There’s a summons,” Mikasa interrupts without hesitation and directs her companion’s attentions to the brass loudspeaker in the upper right hand corner of their three-person berth. “They’ve called the names of everyone living in Block 104.”

At this point, Eren retaliates with a rather loud moan. “Fuck this...” he grumbles.

“You can do that after you wake up Armin,” Mikasa responds.

“Ugh. Fine,” he replies prior wandering over to his blond-haired friend’s bunk. In a manner similar to Mikasa’s, he pushes his friend from his bed. When confronted, he silently points to the loudspeaker. Then, he rolls his eyes and wanders towards the cell’s iron door.

An alarm bell sounds, a loud screech comes from the turning of hidden gears, and the door slowly swings outward. Once it is finished its arc, a man dressed in the usual emerald green and silver robe (which is associated with the facility’s security branch) steps forward. He motions for the trio to follow him, and leads them down a winding labyrinth of hallways. Eventually, he stops before a large, finely polished mahogany-and-ivory door, and admits the group entry into the central chambers—which house the luxurious living quarters of both the supposedly more accomplished and undoubtedly well-off factory supervisors. When Armin hesitates to enter, the guard roughly prods him forwards with his pointed iron staff.


End file.
